Shorts
by Griever11
Summary: Collection of ficlets, drabbles and what have you. Mostly featuring our favourite crime busting duo - with regular appearances from the others.
1. Fighting For Us

Found this and some other unfinished ficlets that will eventually find their way here at some point while I was cleaning out the hard drive (it was telling me I have no more space). Enjoy =]

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Logan was close to passing out in front of his computer. He was tired and his eyes hurt from the strain of staring at the screens the entire day. His day had been an exhausting one and as much as he hated fighting with her, Max had baited him into yet another argument in the afternoon which had ended in them shouting things to each other that they otherwise would have never said without the influence of adrenaline and frustration coursing through them. At some point in the next few days he had to apologise to her.

He always wondered if they were mentally connected somehow especially since that _dream,_ and as he heard faint footsteps approaching his end of the hallway outside his door, his mind wandered idly into the 'our minds are linked' zone. He turned the whirring machinery off and as if on cue he heard a soft knock on his door. He instinctively knew it was her; no one else had the daring indecency to visit him at nearly four in the morning.

She was leaning against his wall opposite his doorway with her hair and clothes slightly damp, most likely a result of her trudging in the rain from her quarters to where he was. He noticed the fierce determination in her eyes, not too different from the look she had when she was drafting out contingency plans and attack formations in the hours she spent in the Command Centre. But tonight there were no soldiers in the vicinity, no threat of incoming hostiles, just her, in his doorway, holding a bottle of wine in one hand, two wine glasses dangling from the fingers of her other.

"You were wrong Logan. _You're _what I'm fighting for."

00000

End.


	2. Fiction

My original entry for the fox_las challenge thingo. Not submitted due to its AU-ness. Just thought I'd share this little ficlet, instead of letting it rot on my desktop. Heh. Prompt was 'A character reading a book about themselves' ... or something close to that.

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The book arrived for her in an unassuming package. It had been left by her door, and she nearly tripped over it as she was making her way out of her room. Opening the package revealed the dark cover emblazoned with the words 'Fighting the Man: The Story of Max Guevara.'

She hadn't heard that name in a very long time, and it gave her the chills to see it so boldly displayed on the book in front of her.

She never once thought that it would come to this; all of her 23 years of living summarised into 300 pages, complete with glossy pictures and a rather embarrassing foreword.

'_She was the voice of an abandoned race, the saviour of her people' _read the synopsis.

Yeah, right.

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It was nearly 6 hours later before she managed to get some time to herself.

The door shut silently behind her, and she started feeling around in the dark for the familiar groove between the bricks in the wall. Her feather light touch pulled at the loose brick, as her other hand picked out the tiny cell phone hidden behind it.

The faint glow of the screen illuminated the small room and Max sighed. She'd only done this once before, and _that_ time it resulted in an emotional torrent that was nearly her undoing. Steeling her resolve, she picked up her phone and dialled a number she never thought she would need to call ever again.

Two rings and he picked up.

"I got your stupid package."

There was a moment of silence from the other end, before she was graced with a chuckle.

"Right. Hello to you too."

"I really hope that colossal waste of trees wasn't a product of your hard work. Because if it was, I'd like to point out that many, many errors have been made."

"C'mon, give me some credit here – don't you think I would have added 'never-ending appetite and eats for an army of men' to your list of characteristics if it was my handiwork?"

Max smiled to herself. She'd thought as much.

"I hope you find the guy who did write it then. And when you do, help me give him knock upside his head."

Another low chuckle came through the speaker, and Max breathed in sharply. She missed him so much. Her heart ached in longing, and yet she forced the things wanted to tell him back into the dark recesses of her mind.

"How's things, Max?" He asked, as if he could read her mind from wherever he was. She paused for a beat before drawing a breath.

"You lost the right to ask me that when you lef– "

Footsteps echoed from the hallway on the other side of the door, and Max never finished her sentence. She removed the battery and the cell phone itself was hastily placed behind the brick once more.

She barely had enough time to get into a less awkward position before the door was opened and the cold blinding light filtered through. The man looked startled to see her, but schooled his features into that of stern apprehension.

"What-" He began, but was cut off by Max hauling out a tub of what seemed to be packets of food in front of her.

"Just getting the rations for tomorrow, sir." She muttered as she edged out of the doorway.

The man glanced at her retreating back curiously before turning back to the small supply room.

His walkie talkie crackled, and a throaty voice came through the static. He shut the door to the room, giving it a solid tug before replying.

"No, it was just 452 getting supplies. Nothing to worry about Deck. Nothing at all."

End.

Review? :)


	3. Berrisford Agenda

My response to ... I can't remember what the prompt was exactly, but it was something about 'concealing your intentions' over at the Last Writer Standing thingo for the fox_las on Livejournal.

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He would deny it if anyone ever confronted him about it. Flowers? Please. Not now, not ever. His money would have been better spent on booze. Sex. Motorcycle parts. Exploring the finer aspects of life outside the walls of Manticore. And to be honest, the thought of pulling back the wad of cash he had placed in front of the nice old lady handing him the bouquet definitely crossed his mind. But he had a job to do.

"Do you want anything written on the card, honey?"

494 scratched his head absentmindedly. Right, the card.

"Uh, just uh, here."

He slipped the lady a piece of paper, not trusting himself to say the words out loud in the event he burst out laughing in her face. He ignored the amused smirk on her face and thanked her promptly as he exited the small florist, the rather large arrangement in hand.

Half an hour later, he had to concede that hiding a bouquet of flowers as he snuck through the vast expanse of an estate surrounded by security was no easy feat. He only hoped she wouldn't be home when he carried out the last part of his plan.

His acute hearing only picked up the gentle breeze blowing through the open window and so he snuck inside, grateful for the temporary shield from the cold. There was just enough space on Rachel's dresser for the flowers and he hastily placed them there, as though touching them a second longer would turn him into one of those monsters from the basement.

Yeah, he wasn't going to think too much about it.

He pulled the card out of his jacket pocket and flipped it open. The feminine scrawl was infinitely more legible than his and he leaned it against a one of the photo frames on the dresser, placing it strategically next to the arrangement of roses and dahlias.

The photo was of her, staring directly at the camera and smiling the sweetest smile he'd ever seen in his life. But then again, Manticore didn't exactly promote friendliness in their daily training sessions, 494 didn't actually have a set standard for 'sweet smiles'. He stood there, captivated by the photo until he heard doors opening and slamming shut from somewhere else within the house. He cleared his head, slightly annoyed at himself for getting distracted from the real mission and crept back out the window. He barely made it before he spied her entering her bedroom.

Rachel noticed the flowers first, and then picked up the card, grinnong as she read the message.

_Hey,_

_You know I do idiotic things only because they make you smile. I'm sorry. Class same time next week?_

_Simon. _

She tucked the card underneath her pillow and placed the flowers on her nightstand. Simon. Beautiful, charming Simon. She _knew_ he would apologise sooner or later.

What she _didn't_ know it was that it would be because of him that months later she would end up in an accident that would send her into a two year long coma. She didn't know that Simon was a lie, a persona created specifically to invade her heart.

So that night, as she slept and dreamt of her Prince Charming with the blue eyes and the fingers of a maestro, all she could focus on was how their love would survive and last her entire lifetime.

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So yeah, not my best, but I literally whipped this up in about two hours because I just about forgot about the deadline. Heh.


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